


Ten Years A Spy

by Tardis123



Category: Alternate Universe - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blackmail, Bus, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Forbidden Love, Love Triangles, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Putin - Freeform, Revenge, Russia, Trauma, United States, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2020-08-23 13:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20243569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tardis123/pseuds/Tardis123
Summary: It's 2019.On the surface, Abby Price is just another high school student heading into her senior year at Cade Valley High. But to the Kremlin, she's Putin's most important asset to gain American intelligence.





	1. A New Mission

**Chapter 1: A New Mission**

The alarm jolted her out of her sleep.

Elizaveta Avigeya Paramonova -- or as she was known to the residents of Cade Valley High, Abby Price -- sat up, stretched, and got out of bed. The next fifteen minutes she diligently spent completing her morning routine. By the time she was dressed and was heading downstairs for breakfast, the time on her Daniel Wellington watch read 6:45am. Right on time, and not a second late. Not that she was surprised, of course. Part of her training was _efficiency_ \-- sticking to a set schedule, never stepping a toe out of line. That way, she would blend right in. She wouldn't stand out. She'd just be another American girl, going to an American high school, and hanging out with American friends.

Who would ever suspect who she truly worked for?

She sat down at the table, where a plate of scrambled eggs and a peeled banana awaited her. Abby glanced up at Raisa -- or as she was known to the residents of their neighborhood, Ruth -- and uttered a polite "thank you." 

Raisa chuckled, "No need to thank me, Abby. Just doing my job." She winked, before glancing around the empty living room. "Where's Antonin?"

"I think he's in the backyard," Yana had suddenly vaporized out of thin air and had taken a seat next to Abby. 

"Yeah, he was gardening or whatever. Also, Yana, did you take my iPhone again?" Boris came up to the dining table as well, pouting. Boris was thirteen, and for his birthday, Raisa and Antonin had convinced the General to allow them to buy him a brand new iPhone. Although the General had initially been against the idea, believing it could pose a security risk, he had finally relented. Now, Abby's "younger brother" was never seen without it, and had suddenly developed an addiction to mumble rap. 

Yana rolled her eyes back at him, "_Нет я не идиот._"

"_Не называй меня идиотом_!" Boris snapped, before Raisa clapped her hands to silence the two's bickering. 

Abby could only smile to herself. Despite the fact that Antonin, Raisa, Boris and Yana were not her true family, but merely an addition to her cover, she couldn't help but feel attached to them. _That's what happens when you live with a group of people for three years, I guess._

Before she knew it, it was nearly seven. Abby guzzled down a glass of water, stood, and said a quick goodbye to Raisa and her two "siblings". Yana waved as she exited the door, while Boris didn't acknowledge her at all, still muttering about his missing iPhone. She didn't mind, though. She readjusted her bag on her shoulder as she walked out of the driveway and onto the street. The bus stop where the school bus would pick her up was only a few minutes away. 

As she walked, Abby quickly ran over the General's instructions in her mind. They had a meeting only a few days ago, but Abby wanted to keep her memory fresh so she didn't forget anything. For security reasons, of course, she could never write the General's instructions down. Over the years, she had gotten quite good at memorizing what he said. It was also why she was so good at Quizbowl. 

_Senior year is crucial, Elizaveta. You need to be alert. Gain information on the target. Befriend the target. You know what we need. And be careful...there's been reports of American interference. Don't trust anyone. _

"Don't trust anyone," she whispered to herself. She took a deep breath as she stopped at the bus station, trying to seem as calm, as nonchalant, and as inconspicuous as possible. The breathing exercises calmed her, and she did her best to relax as the yellow school bus came rolling up.

Abby got on.

And with that, her mission was afoot.


	2. First Day Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby meets up with old friends, feuds with teachers, and discovers who the mysterious "target" is.

**Chapter 2: First Day Back**

"Abby!"

As Abby stepped off the school bus, she was immediately greeted by Jan, who was waiting patiently outside the school gates. Jan was one of Abby's closest friends at Cade Valley High, and fellow Quizbowl member.

With a grin, Abby quickly engulfed Jan in a hug. "Jan! How have you been? How was summer?"

"Oh, it was great." The two girls began walking towards the main school building, heading to their respective homerooms. "My family and I did a lot of travelling. It was good to get my mind off of college apps for a while."

"Definitely," Abby agreed. "College apps suck." The two continued chatting as they climbed up the stairs before entering their homeroom. Mr. Waybis, their homeroom teacher, greeted them with a half-hearted wave from his desk, head buried in the pages of Jane Austen's _Northanger Abbey_. As well as being Abby's homeroom teacher, Mr Waybis was also her Literature teacher. She nearly gagged at the sight of the dreaded Austen novel -- it was part of her summer reading, and she had nearly been brought to tears out of frustration while waiting for the plot to actually progress (which it never really did). She would much rather listen to Boris's mumble rap music than read _Northanger Abbey _again.

Jan took one glance at her expression and immediately understood. "Yeah, Austen is terrible," she quipped, shrugging. "Studying Voltaire last year was much more interesting."

"Agreed."

Abby took a seat and immediately opened her phone. She spent a few minutes scrolling through her messages, most from school friends who were ranting about the recent renovation of the school. But, just as she was going to turn off her phone, a new message caught her eye. 

_The General._

She immediately tensed. Her stomach churned. The General _never _called, texted, or otherwise communicated with her through her personal iPhone. That was to be used to further the persona of Abby Price only. Yet, it was definitely a message from the General -- who else would text her in Russian code?

Seeing that Jan was engrossed in conversation with another student, Abby cautiously opened the message and began to read, deciphering the code on the way. The message, deciphered, read:

_Your target: Nathan Giles. Senior. Blonde, blue eyed, approximately 5'8". Our intelligence has discovered that he is an American plant at CVH. Eliminate immediately. Do not let him get in the way of your mission._

_Good luck._

As she finished reading the message, she realized that she was holding her breath. _Nathan? _She knew him. They were friends. And now, she was being asked to eliminate him? Because he was a spy? She wondered if their whole friendship had been a sham. Was Nathan just pretending to be her friend, or did he know that she was a Russian plant and was just trying to get information?

This time, she truly felt like she might throw up. And it wasn't because of _Northanger Abbey_, either.

Abby put away her phone, and turned to Jan. "Hey," she asked. "Where's Nathan Giles?"

*******

Turns out, Nathan Giles wasn't at the school that day. Instead, Abby had to deal with her teachers -- including her history teacher, Mr. Kettle.

Kettle was an interesting man. At forty-one, he still dressed like a college frat boy, sprouting Tommy Hilfiger shirts and limited edition Nike shoes. He was also quite fond of alcohol -- gin, to be exact. His Instagram page was full of pictures of his fraternizing at bars and clubs. He seemed to be in a constant state of a mid-life crisis. 

Abby wasn't a fan. Still, she tolerated him. He never really taught in any of her classes, which gave her time to play bingo with her fellow classmates, which included Jan, and a girl named May.

Today, however, Kettle had dropped a bombshell: their summer essay was to be due. Besides Jan, who was organized as ever, the rest of the class protested, and got the deadline pushed to Friday. The rest of the class was spent reading through the textbook while Kettle switched between actually teaching and describing his room full of shoes at his house. Overall, a pretty interesting lesson.

History was her last class, and as the bell rang, Abby quickly turned to Jan. "Do you know where Nathan lives?"

"Uh...yeah. He lives in the city. Why?"

"Can I get his address?"

"Um," Jan looked at her, confused. "Sure. But why?"

"It's nothing, uh..." she racked her brain for an excuse. "I wanted to send him a package for his birthday." _Not that the package would be a birthday present..._

"Oh. Sure. I'll text you the address later. Bye!" Jan waved goodbye to Abby as she boarded her bus. Abby waved back, forcing a smile. In reality, her mind was working overtime. _How to get rid of Nathan Giles discretely and without raising suspicion? _She needed to do this. If she didn't, the whole mission could be jeopardized. 

_In this line of work, you need to make tough decisions._ The General's voice echoed through her mind. _You can do that, can't you, Elizabetha? _

"Yes," she whispered, underneath her breath. "I can."


	3. Drove My Chevy to the Levee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes the community of Cade Valley, with Abby caught in the middle of it.

**Chapter 3: Drove my Chevy to the Levee**

As the bus rumbled out of the gates of Cade Valley High, Abby reclined her seat and put on Don McLean's classic _American Pie_ on Spotify Premium. Unfortunately for her, a moment of peace with the iconic song about three musician's death was not to be, as the next thing she knew, Jericho was nudging her shoulder.

"Abby!" Jericho hissed, taking a seat next to her without consulting her first. Typical Jericho behaviour. Abby suppressed an urge to roll her eyes before taking out her AirPods. 

"What?" She asked.

"Nothing, I just wanted to say hi." Jericho replied, looking mildly offended at Abby's question. "Can't a friend say hello?"

"Of course you can," Abby was growing more and more annoyed by the second. _All I want is to just listen to some 70's music. Is that so hard? _"What's up?"

"How was your first day of school? Also --" Jericho added before Abby could reply, "Could I have your English notes?"

"Jericho, why are you asking for my English notes on the first day of school?" Abby asked, confused. "I haven't even had English class yet."

Jericho shrugged. "Early bird gets the worm."

Abby decided to not press the matter. Sometimes, it was better to let Jericho say whatever he wanted, rather than ask what he meant. Instead, she decided to continue making small talk. It was a skill that the KGB had trained her in -- getting along with people, asking polite but mundane questions. Anything that allowed her to maintain her cover and not arouse suspicion. "So how was your day?"

"Fine, I guess," Jericho slumped down beside her. "Same teachers, same schedule. There's nothing new."

"Yeah, everything's pretty much the same."

They rode together in silence, listening to the bus rumble over the concrete. Abby was going to put on _American Pie_ again, until she was interrupted again, but this time by Sergei. Sergei was the only other Russian on Abby's bus, and one of the few Russians in the school. Because of this, Abby felt a closer bond to Sergei than she did with most boys at Cade Valley High. Just platonically, of course. Even though Sergei thought nothing more of her than another American girl, to Abby, he was the only unadulterated connection to the Motherland. 

"How many words do you have your essay, Abby?" Sergei asked, leaning over from the seat behind her to talk. He was tall, looming over her. In a friendly way, obviously. "I have 200."

"I'm done," she looked at him judgementally. "200? You're behind, Sergei."

"I know," he pouted dejectedly. "Procrastination, y'know?"

"Yeah, I get it. Essay writing is terrible."

"Agreed."

Sergei looked over at Jericho sitting beside Abby, who was now somehow fast asleep. Sergei cracked a grin. "Did he pull an all nighter before school even started?"

"No, I think he's just tired. It's probably something to do with the humidity. Makes you sleepy."

"Ah," Sergei nodded. "Makes sense."

Abby looked behind her, staring up at Sergei. "Hey, should you really be leaning over the seat like that?"

"Why not?" 

"Well, because..." she patted her own seatbelt. "Car safety." _God, I'm such a Mom._

Sergei made a face. "Car safety's overrated."

"Well, whatever you say," Abby looked out the window. As she stared, she saw two black Fords flanking the right side of the bus. Abby furrowed her brows. The Fords looked identical, and were missing their license plates. _That's weird._ She craned her neck, looking across the aisle and out the window on the other side. There were another two Fords there as well. 

Then suddenly, before she could react, her world exploded.

Metal clashed against metal as the window beside her shattered, a waterfall of glass raining down on her face. She opened her mouth to scream, but the air was ripped out of her lungs as the bus spun out of control, throwing Abby to the left, to the right, then to the left again. Her seatbelt held her in place, but schoolbags and water bottles flew past her head, clattering on the ground. Her life flashed before her eyes -- Raisa, Antonin, Yana, Boris, the General, the KGB, her father...

_Father._

Then suddenly, Abby was falling. She didn't even have time to realize that the bus was plummeting off the bridge and towards the murky river before it hit, water rushing in through the broken window and drenching her. Abby grabbed the seatbelt, and hoisted herself free. Her mind was on autopilot. She had trained for such a scenario, but she never knew that it was going to happen. _Calm, calm. Think, Abby, think! _She grabbed the serrated edges of the window in order to boost herself out of the bus, ignoring the piercing pain as her palm was cut on broken glass. Water engulfed her, and for a second, she didn't know which way was up or down. But she closed her eyes and swam in what felt like an upwards direction, until finally, _finally,_ she felt a blast of air on her face.

She inhaled deeply, treading water. For a few seconds, all Abby could think about was that she was alive. _I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive._

Beside her, she saw more students swimming, exiting the wreckage of the bus before it could fully submerge. She saw Jericho spluttering a few feet to the right of her, blood running down his face, but very much alive. Other classmates that she knew, like Sarah from Economics and Nancy from History, were hanging on to a piece of floating driftwood. 

But she didn't see Sergei.

Panic started to set in. She swam towards the wreckage, calling out his name. "Sergei? Sergei where are you?!"

No answer.

Later, after the victims of the horrific accident were saved and taken to the hospital for treatment, Abby learned that Sergei died on the initial impact. He didn't suffer, they told her. His death was quick and merciful. 

It didn't matter to Abby. As she laid on her hospital bed, there was only one thing that she could think of.

The Fords without the license plates.

How they flanked her bus, deliberately driving the bus over the edge of the bridge and into the water.

How they killed Sergei.

The Americans.

_They know, _she thought, and despite the warmth of the August evening, she couldn't help but shiver.


	4. The Memorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After witnessing Sergei's death, Abby is struggles with survivors guilt, as her hatred towards the Americans grows deeper after a meeting with her target, Nathan Giles.

**Chapter 4: The Memorial**

There was a heavy silence in the air.

Abby sat in the second row from the front, watching Principal Tinfurmale clear his throat and re-adjust his tie before speaking. "Sergei was a cherished member of the Cade Valley High community. He was a bright young man, with a whole future in front of him which was taken away far too soon. This is a truly tragic event, and we want you all to know that we know what you're going through. We're here for you. Which is why there will be no school next week. We want the students of Cade Valley High to focus on their mental health, to take time and process this tragedy..."

As Principal Tinfurmale continued his speech, Abby found herself tuning out. It was all corporate nonsense anyways. She knew that the principal's sentiments were not sincere, but merely a required PR move as to not draw any backlash from wealthy parents funding the school's new renovations. She doubted Tinfurmale even knew who Sergei was. 

She did, though. Sergei was her friend -- one of her closest friends. Losing him felt like a never-ending punch to the gut. 

She was released from the hospital three days ago. The most serious injury was a cut across the palm of her hand which required several stitches. The rest were mild bumps and bruises. The hospital staff told her that she should consider herself lucky. If she hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, she may be dead too. _If only Sergei listened..._

Something wet and warm landed on the palm of her hand. A tear. She hadn't even realized that she was crying.

She wiped away her tears, sniffling. Her actions caught the attention of Jan, who embraced her in a hug. "It's okay," Jan whispered soothingly, voice cracking slightly. Abby could tell that she, too, was trying her best to hold back tears. "It's going to be alright..."

Abby sucked in a breath. _You have to be strong_, she reminded herself. _Strong and brave, like Yoko Ono was after John Lennon died..._She had never truly appreciated or paid any attention to Yoko Ono, but how, after Sergei's passing, she couldn't help but relate to the eighty-six year old Japanese woman. _We're so alike...we share a common tragedy..._

But she was a Russian spy. She didn't have the privilege of having mental health days or grieving in an orderly fashion. She'd learnt that as soon as she was taken in by the Academy which trained her to be what she was today. The General made sure that she would never break down, that she would never cry. 

So she wouldn't.

Abby untangled herself from Jan's arms. "Thanks," she whispered hoarsely, sitting up straight and trying her best to not look like how she felt -- like a wreck. 

After Tinfurmale's speech, the school was dismissed from the assembly. Abby and Jan spent the next few minutes congregating with some of the other seniors, sharing fond stories of Sergei. One that stood out to Abby the most was the time when he ate a crayon. She smiled at the memory. 

"Hey." Suddenly, Abby felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around, and immediately, her blood went cold.

Because standing right in front of her, was Nathan Giles. Well, more specifically, it was Nathan Giles, his boyfriend Langham Beyersdorf, and their friend Zacarias. 

But all Abby could think about was Nathan. Langham and Zacarias were secondary to her <strike>and probably the plot of this au </strike>. It was Nathan with whom she had a bone to pick. It was Nathan's organisation -- the Americans -- that killed Sergei. Kind, funny, innocent Sergei. And they would've killed her too.

"I'm so sorry, Abby," Nathan began. She wanted to launch herself at him, punch him in the face, but she restrained herself. She couldn't let her guard down, couldn't expose her cover. "I know how close you and Sergei were. And being in that crash..." he shook his head, "I can't even imagine that."

"Thanks," she gritted out icily. 

Langham was sprouting a bright green and purple mohawk, and Abby suddenly wondered how she missed this very noticeable detail when talking to Nathan. In comparison to Nathan's dull blond curls, Langham's hairdo was much more attention grabbing. It was another testament to her rage for her target, she guessed.

"My dear Abby," Langham begun, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. He was wearing a black and white suit that was mildly wrinkled, and a Rolex that was missing one of its hands. It didn't go with his hairdo at all, but Abby bit her tongue. "I must express my most profound sympathies for your loss. Our dear companion Sergei was lost too soon...too soon I say!" He yelled the last part, which caused Mr. Kettle, who was walking past while wearing a neon yellow limited edition Gucci sneaker, to shush him. Langham quieted down, but still continued talking, "But, from the darkest of storms comes the brightest of rainbows, as Karl Marx famously said. This is not the end, my pal. This is not the end..." And with that, he stepped back and faded into the crowd mysteriously.

Zacarias coughed awkwardly. "In other words, we just want to say we'll always be here for you."

"Aw," said Jan. "That's so nice."

"Yeah," said Abby, but she was staring straight at Nathan. "That's nice." Her blood was boiling. _Breathe, Abby, breathe. Je suis calme!_

"You know," Nathan said, seemingly oblivious to the liquid fury reflected in Abby's dark brown irises. "We should go do some karaoke. Take our mind off things, you know? I know a great place."

"Ah, yes!" Langham had suddenly reappeared. _How did I not notice him coming back again with that darn hair of his?!_ Abby shook away her thoughts. Langham's entrances and exits were a thing of mystery. "As my spirit animal René Descartes once said, 'Music can heal all things, even the grief of a dead schoolmate'."

"I don't think Descartes said that," said Jan, furrowing her brow. "If he did, I would know. I'm in Quizbowl."

Zacarias interrupted before anyone could say anything else. "I think that's a great idea. Karaoke, anyone?"

"The nearest one is only thirty minutes away! Don't worry, I'll pay the fare," Langham winked, before running his Rolex-wearing hand through his multicoloured mohawk and winking at Nathan, who giggled.

Abby felt like she was going to explode. This boy -- this American spy -- was _giggling_ while she suffered? He was giggling while Sergei lay cold and dead, buried six feet under? And it was right then and there, when Abby Price decided to complete the mission, right here, right now. The General was right. She couldn't trust anyone. The mission was too crucial, there was too much at stake. There were four black Fords -- were they all operating the order of Nathan, or was there someone else? Someone else who was in cahoots with him, who wanted her dead? 

She looked around at the students beside her. Langham, Zacarias and Jan, standing and talking beside her. May, Sarah, Nancy and other classmates walking around. Any one of them could be a spy. Any one of them could be there, looking for a Russian to eliminate. Well, besides Langham, of course. _No way he was a spy with that hairdo._

"So, Abby," Nathan's voice cut her out of her trance. "You down for karaoke?"

Everything inside of her told her to say no, to run, to go back to Raisa and Antonin, to stay safe. But the General told her to not arouse suspicion. The General told her to befriend the target. And first and foremost, Elizaveta Avigeya Paramonova was loyal to the orders of the Motherland.

"Sure," she flashed a smile. "Karaoke it is."


	5. Комите́т Госуда́рственной Безопа́сности

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of Karaoke, Abby is interrupted by a surprising figure -- Mikhail Litvinov, the General -- bearing even more surprising news.

_ **Chapter 5: Комите́т Госуда́рственной Безопа́сности** _

_"Yeahhhh, I'm gonna take my horse to the old town road. I'm gonna rideeeeeeeee 'til I can't no more. I'm gonna take my horse to the old town road, I'm gonna rideeeee 'til I can't no more."_

Abby wondered how she got to this point.

It was, to be honest, a series of poor decisions that led her to where she was now, in an over-crowded karaoke bar with a bunch of drunk teenagers. Langham had charmed the bartender to sneak them vodka tonics, which everyone spat out except for Abby and Langham, but Langham didn't really count considering he coughed most of it up. Abby, however, downed hers in one go. A true Soviet always downed their vodka. She'd been drinking Russian Standard since she was eight.

Fortunately, everyone was too busy screaming the lyrics to Old Town Road to notice Abby's superior drinking skills. She had wanted her friends to play _Here Comes the Sun_, but unfortunately, everyone voted for Lil Nas X instead. Even Jan. Abby had never felt so betrayed.

"Culture," Langham slurred when Abby attempted to protest. "Lil Nas X...that's culture right there, my dude."

Abby tried to argue that it was the Beatles who were the ones that were integral to the evolution of pop music into an art form, and to the development of the counterculture of the 1960s, but alas, Langham was too busy doing the Gangnam Style dance to notice. Eventually, Abby gave up, sitting in the corner of the booth and trying not to cringe at the "cultured' lyrics of "My life is a movie / boot riding and boobies."

As her friends sang along, her eyes wandered to Nathan, who was also sitting down, but unlike Abby, was actively clapping and cheering on Langham as he rapped Billy Ray Cyrus's verse flawlessly. _Who is he?_ She wondered. _Who is Nathan Giles? Does he even know that I'm the Russian spy? _

"Hey!" Zacarias walked in, carrying another bottle of Grey Goose and several shot classes. "Bartender gave them to me. Said it's for the guy in the mohawk."

"UWU," Langham said, grinning, before grabbing the bottle from the ice bucket and immediately began pouring shots.

"Slow down babe," Nathan giggled. "You're a lightweight, you know that."

"Not for tonight," Langham winked, and the rest of the gang cheered.

Abby rolled her eyes. It was getting kind of crazy inside the karaoke booth, and she needed some fresh air. Quietly, she put on her jacket and slipped out the door and into the hallway.

She walked out of the karaoke bar, stopping at the side of the street and taking a few deep breaths. Her head was pounding. Not from the vodka, but from the events of the past week. It was the beginning of senior year, and she had been assigned a brand new mission, lost her best friend, and was now facing possible death. It was enough to make anyone's head ache. 

She placed her head in her hands. "Why did this happen?" She whispered.

"Because of the Americans, Elizaveta."

Abby's eyes snapped open. She knew that voice. But that voice belonged to a man residing thousands of miles away, deep in the heart of the Motherland, in the KGB's top secret base. Not here, in Cade Valley, outside a sketchy karaoke bar. 

But he was. 

_The General._

Mikhail Litvinov stood in front of her, hands tucked inside his jacket pockets, dark hair ruffled by the cool afternoon breeze. He haven't changed since the last time she saw him. He smiled at her shocked expression, "Hello, Abby."

"General!" She was suddenly at a loss for words. "I'm -- who -- what are you doing here?"

Mikhail moved closer towards her, glancing around to make sure no one was looking, and whispered, "It's about your father."

_Father._

She hadn't thought about her father since that fateful day of the accident. Before that, she had done everything in her power to keep him out of her mind. 

She did her best to appear nonchalant. "What about him?"

Mikhail hesitated briefly, but it was enough to catch Abby's attention. She had been trained well. "Listen," Mikhail murmured. "Can we go somewhere private?"

"Why?" Abby didn't know why she was so angry. She had never let her temper flair in front of the General. It could cost her life, or worse, her job. But she had been through so. much. crap. in the past few days and she could feel herself reaching her breaking point. Lil Nas X had been the straw that broke the camel's back. "Why did you even come all the way here? Why are we talking about..." she couldn't say his name. She just couldn't. Her palms balled into fists as she continued, "Why are we talking about _him_?"

Mikhail's gaze suddenly hardened. "You should remember who you're speaking to," he clipped. "I guess America has caused you to loose your manners. Not that I'm surprised, considering this is a country where people deep-fry butter."

Abby ignored the comment. "You didn't answer my question."

Mikhail cocked his head to one side, an amused grin painted across his jagged features. "My, my," he mused. "You have grown bolder."

"Blame it on Boris' mumble rap." Abby replied, head lifted high. However, Mikhail, at 6'2", still towered over her. It made her feel like Napoleon in the face of the British enemy. 

Mikhail didn't seem to have heard her, or if he did, he ignored the comment. "Abby, this is important, otherwise I would not have come here. It's about your father. Just..." he sighed. "Just listen."

"Fine." _It's better than singing Old Town Road anyways._ "What is it?"

Mikhail inhaled deeply. "Abby, you're not going to like this, but your father wants to see you. In person."

"Absolutely not!" She felt the same old fury build up again in her stomach. "I thought I made it clear I never wanted to see him again. Not after what he did to me."

"Orders are orders, Elizaveta," Mikhail shrugged. "You know I answer to a higher authority, and that happens to be your father. You know this. Don't make this difficult."

"Tell him I'm not going." Abby crossed her arms over her chest. "I do a lot for you, генеральный. But not this. Not this."

"Elizaveta," suddenly, Mikhail's voice grew soft, and he knelt down, so the two were at eye level. "Remember when I told you that i_n this line of work, you need to make tough decisions? _This is one of those decisions. No one wants to make them, no one wants to do them, but we do. That's what being a part of this organization means. It means doing things you don't like to do for the benefit of your country."

There was silence between them for a while. Abby felt her throat constrict and she struggled to hold back tears. The memories...the memories she had spent years forgetting were threatening to come back and flood her mind. The pain...the hurt..._I can't do it. I can't._

_You have to._

She took a deep breath. It was just going to be a meeting. One meeting, and that was it. Then she would be back in Cade Valley, with her friends and carrying on with her mission, like nothing was wrong. 

Abby nodded at Mikhail, who smiled, and stood. Taking her hand, he led her over to a sleek black car, with no license plates. As Abby got it, she suddenly remembered Nathan, Langham, Jan and Zacarias still in the karaoke bar. "Hey," she asked, as Mikhail started the car. "What about Nathan?"

"Oh, don't worry," Mikhail smiled at her in the rearview mirror. "I'll take care of him."

And as the words left his lips and the Toyota pulled away onto the road, the karaoke bar exploded in a ball of flames.

Abby screamed. 


	6. JFK, blown away, what else do I have to say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the explosion at the karaoke bar, Abby discovers that things are not as they seem, and someone is lying to her.

**Chapter 6: JFK, blown away, what else do I have to say?**

The next few seconds was a whirl. Abby remembered shrieking as the road rumbled beneath the wheels, the explosion ripping through the roof of the karaoke bar in a burst of flames. It wasn't like she cared about Nathan -- after all, she was hired to kill him -- but the others were different. Langham, Jan, Zacarias...they were all innocents, all normal high school students just trying to get through the day. The KGB never said anything about killing _them_. They had grown close in the years that Abby had lived in Cade Valley. 

They were her _friends_.

Without thinking, she swung her fist at Mikhail's face, landing a firm punch on the bridge of his nose. A loud crack echoed in the confines of the car, followed by a string of Russian curses from Mikhail. The car swerved on the road as blood dripped down Mikhail's face, falling into his Stalin-esque moustache.

"Nani?!" He yelled, before pulling over on the side of the road. 

"You -" Abby was at a loss for words. Her hand was shaking. "What did you do?!"

"I took care of everything!" Mikhail tilted his head back, trying to stem the bleeding. "Сука Блять!" He cursed. "You punched me!"

"You blew up my friends!"

"You _friends_?" Mikhail sneered. "They weren't your friends, Шлюха."

Abby felt her face heat up. "They were!"

"They weren't!" Now, they were barely an inch apart, in each other's face, screaming. "Your friend were fake! Your whole life was fake!" Mikhail waved his arms around wildly. "Abby Price isn't real -- but Elizaveta Avigeya Paramonova is!"

"Maybe I don't want to be Elizaveta!" Abby screamed. Her heart was pounding. She didn't even truly comprehend what she was saying. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew that saying these kind of things weren't a good idea -- there would be consequences, no doubt. But right here, right now, she didn't care. "Maybe I want to be Abby Price! Maybe I want to live my life here, in Cade Valley. Did you ever think of that? Did you ever even understand that I was forced into this job, that I never wanted to this?"

"You," Mikhail pointed a shaking finger at her chest, pushing her back into the seat of the car. "You got yourself here, Abby. Do you take me for a fool? I know the consequences of your enlistment in the KGB. I know what happened between you and your father."

"Then you would know what he did."

"Yes," Mikhail repeated, voice cold as ice. "I know."

Silence engulfed them. Blood dripped onto the seat. Mikhail slumped back on the driver's seat, suddenly exhausted. He grabbed a tissue out of his jacket pocket and stuffed it up his nostrils, before stepping down on the accelerator. The car shuddered to life, and pulled onto the road. "You know that this has to be done, Abby," Mikhail said softly. "They were loose ties. It wasn't personal."

_It wasn't personal._

"Just like what my father did to me wasn't personal?" She said, bitterly.

Mikhail cast her a disapproving glance. "It's been ten years, Abby. It's time to move on from that."

She felt tears prickle in the back of her eyes. "You don't understand."

"I don't, Abby," Mikhail's voice was suddenly softer, kinder. "But that doesn't mean that I don't understand what you're feeling. Pain. Confusion."

"Yeah, ten years of that," she snapped back, voice cracking. She felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I know that he told you. I know the 'official story'. But there's much more than that. This thing goes deeper."

"I'm sorry, Abby," He placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't even mind that he was smearing blood all over her shirt -- it felt nice, the sensation of being held by someone. In Antonin and Raisa's household, there was rarely any emotional physical contact. Raisa and Antonin were professionals, and Boris would've never hugged her, considering how salty he was over Abby's rejection of Post Malone's music.

She had known the General for ten years. He had been her mentor and her teacher, but he had also been a replacement of sorts, at times, for her father. He had raised her since she was seven, providing her with care, making sure that she was safe. If her father had his way, Abby knew she would be long dead, to protect his reputation, to protect the reputation of the country. It was the General that saved her.

_"She's just a child," _she remembered him saying, the night that he took her away. _"Just a child..."_

She leaned against him.

They didn't exchange another word for the rest of the ride. 

It took them a little over two hours to reach their destination. As Abby got out of the car, she wondered why Mikhail had brought her here. They were in the woods somewhere, surrounded by trees and grass. The afternoon had faded into night, and the cold evening breeze nipped at her exposed skin. Abby internally chided herself for not bringing a jacket. 

"Why are we here?" Abby asked softly. The leaves rustled in the wind.

"I need to show you something."

She heard the click as the trunk was popped open. Mikhail grabbed a black duffle bag, before slamming the trunk closed again. 

The hairs on the back of Abby's neck suddenly began to prickle. She wrapped her arms around herself, chewing on her bottom lip nervously. "What's this about?"

"Your father."

"My father?" They were walking now, deeper into the forest. She felt her heart flutter against her chest. "Is he here?"

"No." 

"Oh." In a way, she felt relieved, but that uneasy feeling was still there. "Why are we here then?"

That was when she heard the cock of a shotgun. 

She turned around, only to see Mikhail pointing the nuzzle of a shotgun directly in her face.

The air grew still.

_This is it._ She thought, hands shaking. _This is it. He's finishing my father's job. The one he promised to protect me from..._

"You've become the very thing you swore to destroy," she whispered, and closed her eyes, waiting for the end.

And then a bang.

Abby waited for the pain, but it never came. _Maybe I'm already dead. Was this what dying feels like? Darkness? Nothingness?_

But no. Her skin still felt cold, and she held an owl hoot somewhere in the distance. She cracked open an eye, only to see Mikhail pointing the shotgun in the air, chest heaving, staring at her. As she watched, he dropped the gun to his side, defeated. "I can't," he murmured, letting the gun fall from his hands. "I can't."

Before he could change his mind, Abby immediately jumped into ultra-spy mode. She sprinted over to Mikhail's side, grabbing his gun from the ground and shotgun-whipping him across the head. As the man collapsed onto the dirt, Abby cocked the gun once more, and this time, it was her who was holding him at gunpoint. _Oh, how the turntables..._

"Talk." She tried her best to sound tough, to sound professional, but her voice wavered. 

"Your father..." Mikhail's voice was weak, blood dripping down his nose again. She felt bad for breaking his nose twice in the span of a few hours, but he did try to just kill her. That warranted her a pass. "Your father ordered me...to execute you."

"Why?" Her heart was beating a thousand miles per hour. "Why now? Why let me live so long, and ask you to kill me now?"

"It's about...Lyudmila..." Mikhail coughed. "Lyudmila...found out...about you."

She felt like throwing up. _Lyudmila... "_So are you going to kill me?"

"No," a tear slipped down Mikhail's cheek. "I can't...not you, Abby. I'm sorry." He swallowed, chest heaving. "You need to go, Elizaveta. Run. Run as far as you can. You know that they're going to come for you."

"But...what do I do? Where should I go?" Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions and questions. "I don't know what to do! I don't even know what's happening!"

"I'll find you later. I'll tell you. But now, you have to shoot me, and run."

"Shoot you?" She couldn't. There was no way.

"Yes. This has to seem like a fight. Just shoot me in the leg, or the shoulder."

"But-"

"Abby!" He suddenly yelled. "Just do it, Сука Блять!"

She aimed at his shoulder, closed her eyes, and fired. 


	7. Every Breath You Take

  
**Chapter 7: Every Breath You Take**

A/N: So I know this song has romantic undertones but in this context just focus on the stalker undertone please thanks. Also I got this idea from that one vine of the goose staring at the other goose from the rooftop of a building. It's great. Please watch it if you haven't: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rgmlo8PHR6Y

***

_"I'm here at the scene of the crime right now, and let me tell you, it's absolute chaos. For our viewers who are just tuning in -- the Ooka Chaka Karaoke Bar here in the central of Cade Valley was the site of a large explosion today, claiming four lives. Although the police have not yet reported on the cause of the explosion, the Deputy Sheriff has not yet ruled out foul play -"_

Abby tore her eyes away from the television screen, and stepped away from the storefront. Four lives. The preppy blonde reporter hadn't mentioned any names, but Abby knew, deep down inside, that it was Langham, Zacarias, Jan, and Nathan. Who else would they be referring to? Mikhail had told her as such. He "took care" of Nathan, didn't he?

She sat down on a bench along the sidewalk. It was cold, and Abby shivered. Her hands were still shaking.

Did she really just shoot Mikhail? The General? The one person who raised her? Although she knew what she was doing was necessary to survive, she still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling of wrongness, of betrayal.

Mikhail had told her to run. He had also told her to wait for him. Which one is it? She wasn't used to this feeling -- being confused. All of her instructions were straightforward and to the point. She had always followed a schedule, a routine. Now, her whole life was falling apart. Lyudmila was after her. So was her father, probably. As she sat, her mind briefly wandered to the thought of her, to the thought of Alina -- but she shook it away.

It didn't matter now.

Nothing did.

The General's advice of "Don't trust anyone" seemed to take on an entirely different meaning now. Here she was, in a foreign country, surrounded by enemies from both sides.

She suddenly craved the company of her friends. Of Zacarias, whom she had known for years. Of Jan, who was always there for her. Of Langhan with his ridiculous hair. Heck. She was even missing Nathan.

"Abby, is that you?"

She turned, and right there, standing in front of her, were all her friends. Alive. Well. Jan was glancing at her, puzzled, with Zacarias standing next to her. Langham was holding a can of Monster. And Nathan was leaning forward, looking concerned. "You okay?"

Abby punched him.

She wasn't sure what was up with her punching people lately. The week had been very stressful, so she did chalk it up to that. Nathan stumbled backwards, as the rest of the group leapt forward, Langham hurling the Monster can at Abby's head (which missed, fortunately) and Zacarias pinning her down onto the bench. "Yo yo yo!" Langham cried, rushing to the fallen Nathan. "Abby! Why'd you do that?"

"You -" her voice was shaking as she struggled to get out of Zacarias's grasp. "You're all dead!"

"What?" Jan placed a hand on Abby's forehead. "What do you mean? Also, you're burning up, Abby."

"No!" She wrenched herself free from Zacarias' hands. "You died! In the explosion! I heard them talk about it on TV."

"Oh, right," that was Langham. "Yeah, no, that wasn't us. That was the bartender."

Abby furrowed her brow. "Wait, they said there were four deaths."

"Yeah, there were four bartenders." Nathan quipped. Thankfully, Abby's punch hadn't broken his nose, but he still looked quite offended. "When the explosion went off, the fire ignited the alcohol at the bar. It was like throwing a thousand molotov cocktails."

"Wait, then how did you guys survive? Wasn't our booth right next to the bar?" Abby's head was spinning. Nothing was making sense.

"Yeah, it was crazy. We were all having a great time, singing Old Town Road and all that, and then Nathan realized that you were gone and you hadn't come back. So we all went outside to look for you, except we confused the back exit for the main entrance and got lost. Anyways, we were trying to find our way back to the bar when it exploded. So I guess, it was all thanks to you that we survived." Langham explained.

"Oh. Right. Makes sense."

"Are you sure you're okay? We should probably get out of the cold. I think you have a fever." Jan, responsible as ever, shrugged off her own jacket and draped it around Abby's shivering shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmured in reply, as the four led her off the bench.

"We should go to my house," Jan said, as they walked along the sidewalk. "It's close to here, and my parents and brother are out of town. I bet you can stay."

"Yeah, sure," Abby said. Where else was she going to go?

The rest of the walk seemed to pass by in the blur. She remembered Nathan and Langham saying goodbye as they headed towards the bus stop, and Zacarias called a taxi to get home. She remembered Jan taking her to her house, and the next thing she knew, she was being tucked into bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, Abby's world faded into darkness, as she drifted off into the deep embrace of sleep.

***

When she woke up, the sun was streaming through her window. She rolled over on her side, groggy, when suddenly, realization hit her.

_What was I thinking?!_ Abby leapt out of bed. _Staying here, in Jan's house, with the most powerful man in Russia looking for me? Geez I really hope she isn't dead..._

She hurried out of the room, running down the twisting hallways. She wasn't aware Jan lived in a maze the size of Buckingham Palace. "Jan? Where are you?"

"Oh, hi Abby." Jan was leaning sitting on her sofa, playing a figure skating game on her phone. She smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh..." Abby glanced around. No sign of a home invasion. Maybe the Kremlin just hadn't found her yet. "Yeah, yeah I did."

"That's good. Hey, listen," Jan glanced at the clock on the wall. "School's cancelled. Apparently the explosion sent shockwaves through the pipe system, or whatever, and Cade Valley's sewer pipes exploded."

  
Abby furrowed her brow. "I don't think that's how physics works, but okay." She sat down beside Jan. "Did you call my...parents?"

"No. I mean, I tried, but they didn't pick up."

Abby suddenly felt her heart drop into her stomach. Raisa. Antonin. Yana. Even Boris. Did her father have them killed to avoid them from talking? Or were they just really bad at charging their phones?

She put on a smile. "Oh, I'm sure they're not worried. I usually go out and stay over at friend's places without telling them anyways!" That was a lie. Abby never left the house. But Jan seemed to buy it.

"Coffee?" She asked, heading to the kitchen.

"No, just water, please. I'm not very adventurous, but I tell others that I don't like the flavor."

Jan nodded. "Understandable. We all lie to ourselves, and to others, everyday. It's a part of human nature. I take psych," she quickly added, after noticing Abby's confusion.

  
"Oh, makes sense. I have history, with Kettle."

"Yes," Jan nodded, as she poured a glass of water for Abby. "I know. I'm in your class."

"Oh, right." She was falling apart. She couldn't even remember her own classmates! Abby grabbed the glass of water from Jan's hand and guzzled it down. The liquid felt cool and refreshing. As she placed the glass back down on the table, Abby racked her brain for a conversation topic, so that Jan wouldn't think she had gone insane. She looked around, and her eyes landing on a poster of a figure skater, built above the shrine. "Oh!" Abby exclaimed. "That's Yulia Lipnitskaya!"

Jan's face lit up. "You know her?"

  
"Yeah, of course. Her 2014 routine at the Olympics was iconic!"

"Wait, I didn't know you were a figure skating fan." Jan squealed excitedly. "Finally, I have a buddy to talk to!"

"Uh," suddenly, Abby realized that talking about figure skating was a bad idea. She only knew one figure skater, who was Yulia, and she only knew about Yulia because she had accidentally stumbled down a Youtube rabbit hole after watching John Lennon's interviews. "I mean...I don't, uh, really watch figure skating."

"Oh, how did you know about Yulia then?" Jan asked. She chuckled, "Are you like, a Russian spy or something?"

"Yeah," suddenly, out of the shadows of the hallways, Mikhail emerged, his wounded arm wrapped in white bandages in a sling. He smirked, chewing on a cashew. "She is."

Jan screamed, then fainted.

Abby cringed. It was an understandable reaction, of course, but now she just had more problems. "Thanks a lot," she snapped at Mikhail, who just shrugged. She readjusted Jan's limp body, making sure she was comfortable on the couch. It felt oddly like handling a corpse. Not like Abby hadn't done that, though. "Now what am I supposed to tell her?"

  
"Don't tell her anything," Mikhail replied suavely like a character in a Martin Scorsese film. He even looked a little bit like Michael Corleone with the lighting, just significantly less Italian and with a Stalin moustache. "Just convince her the whole thing was a fever dream."

"What?" Abby spasmed indignantly. "I'm the one with the fever! Not her!"

Mikhail shrugged again. "Anyone can have a fever if you try hard enough."

"That doesn't even make any sense!"

"Doesn't matter," Mikhail waved away her worries. "I'm here to talk."

"Wait, how did you find me?" Abby suddenly regretted finishing her glass of water. Her throat was very dry.

"I told you that I would. Why are you surprised? It's what I do."

"Well," Abby muttered. "That's very creepy."  
For the third time, Mikhail shrugged. He seemed to be doing that alot. Abby wondered if he had a condition, but decided to not ask him. "That's why nine of ten spies get confused for stalkers or peeping Toms. But that's not relevant right now. What's relevant, is what we need to do."

"Okay?"

Mikhail took a seat, then took off his ushanka hat. "I contacted the Kremlin and told them you got away. They were angry, and I'll probably get demoted, but they seemed to buy the story. Especially after Chad and Lack Toes came and inspected my wound."

  
"Wait." If this was a movie, this would be the record scratch moment. "Who's Chad and Lactose?"

"Other KGB agents sent to kill you. Y'know, the usual."

"And their names are...Chad and...Lactose?"

"No, no, Lack Toes, not Lacktose. He's missing three toes on his right foot."

"Oh."

There was an uneasy silence. Abby cleared her throat. "So uh...this Chad and Lack Toes are coming to kill me, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I told them you ran off to the woods. They're probably there right, scouring the forest for any trace of you. By the way, is there any coffee and tea?"

"Uh..." Abby had no experience making tea or coffee, but she did feel bad about shooting the guy in the arm, so she decided to do it anyways. As she grabbed a bag of Arabian coffee beans and some Da Hong Pao tea, she wondered where this conversation would go. "So, what's going to happen now?"

  
"Well, my main plan is to put you into hiding. Lay low. Maybe in Florida somewhere." Mikhail took a sip of the Arabian coffee, then the tea, then spat both out. "That's disgusting."

Abby felt hurt, but ignored it. "Florida? The state of Florida Man? Alligators? Crack?"

"Yes."

"Well..." Abby hesitated briefly. "It's okay, I guess. Pennsylvania is better, though."

"Why, because you're secretly an Amish?"

"What! No!" Abby spasmed indignantly once more. "Just because I don't dress like Billie Eilish doesn't mean I'm Amish."

Mikhail raised an eyebrow. "Sure, sis." He took another sip of the coffee and made a face. "Where does your friend get her darn beans?!"

"It's Arabian coffee. It's supposed to be good."

"Well," Mikhail took the cup and yeeted it onto the wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces like Abby's hopes and dreams of ever going back to school and getting into Harvard. "It's disgusting, and I never want to drink that again."

And at that moment, there was a knock on the door.

"Jan! Jan, honey, are you home?" Jan's mother's voice echoed throughout the living room. "Could you open the door, please? Your brother lost the key."

Mikhail and Abby looked at one another.

"Well, crap," Abby said.

Mikhail let out a sigh, then pulled a pistol from his holster. "Time for another assassination, I guess."

"What? Wait -" 

But it was too late. Mikhail aimed the gun at the French mahogany door, and fired.


	8. Staying Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby must hide her identity and lie to Chad and Lack Toes, the two KGB agents sent by the Kremlin to kill her.

**Chapter 8: Staying Alive**

Abby shrieked as the bullet hit the door, splintering the very expensive wood. There was a shrill scream from outside, followed by two more gunshots, both fired by Mikhail. As the dust settled and the silence returned, Abby snapped out of her shock, whirling around and screaming, "You killed them!"

Mikhail shrugged. "Calm down, Abby. Considering my track record of attempting to kill people, they're probably still alive."

Abby shook her head. "You're a terrible person and an even more terrible KGB agent."

Mikhail raised both shoulders. "We all have flaws."

Abby glanced quickly at Jan, who was still out cold, before rushing towards the front door. Cautiously, she pushed it open, mentally preparing herself for the worse -- of Jan's parents and brother splayed out dead on the floor. But as the door creaked open, it wasn't two middle aged asian parents and a tall lanky boy on the ground, but two men, groaning as they sat up. One was wearing a pair of crocs, and Abby could see he was lacking three toes.

_Lack Toes._

_And the other must be Chad._

Abby froze. These were her attackers. The ones that the Kremlin sent to kill her. They must've found her and attempted to disguise themselves as Jan's parents! As the two men stumbled to their feet, Abby wracked her brain for something to say, but came up with nothing. 

_This is it. This is the end._ As her eyes connected with those of Chad, she braced for the feeling of a bullet ripping through her heart. Instead, what she got was a pinch on the cheek.

"How ya' doin, honey?" Chad was smiling down at her as he stood, shrugging off a bullet proof vest and exposing his bulging biceps. Although he towered over her, Abby didn't feel any resentment or anger. Only peace and happiness. As she watched, enamoured, he turned to his comrade who was struggling to his feet. "You okay, my man?"

"Yeah, it's just my toes. Or lack of them," Lack Toes said, finally standing. He looked at Abby. "Who's this?"

"This," all of a sudden, Mikhail had vaporized behind her. "Is a...new recruit. From the Kremlin. First mission."

_Realization hit her. A lie. A cover. Chad and Lack Toes must not know what I look like..._

"Oh!" Chad grinned at her. His teeth were so white they nearly blinded her. "_Caramia_! It's so lovely to be working with you." He took her hand and kissed it. Abby blushed. Despite the fact that this man could shoot her dead, she didn't care. Chad just...possessed...some kind of power over her. It was amazing.

She giggled. "Thank you."

"Ah! _Introduzioni_! I'm Chad. My last name is a little inappropriate," he winked, "So just call me Chad George Foreman Grill."

"I'm Lack Toes," said Lack Toes, wobbling over. His crocs squeaked on the wooden ground. "It's a weird name, I know. My parents weren't very creative. If I hadn't been born lacking my toes, they would've called me Brown Hair or Male Child."

"Hello," Abby greeted politely. 

"Now, Mikhail, _amico_!" Chad walked into the room and patted Mikhail, hard, on the back. In this lighting, he looked like Chris Hemsworth, Ryan Gosling, Hugh Jackman and Idris Elba combined. Essentially, all the men who had been awarded Sexiest Man Alive. "Where is Abby, our gorgeous target? Although not as gorgeous as you, of course," he winked at Abby, who giggled, unaware that he was talking to her all along.

Mikhail rolled his eyes. "Enough with the theatrics. I don't know where she is. I came to her friend's house but she's not here, knocked her friend out in the process. Don't worry, she didn't see anything."

"Yeah, no need to kill her or anything," Abby quickly added. There was no need to be killing -- or attempting to kill -- any more of her friends. Sergei had already been the sacrificial lamb. There was no need for another one.

Chad gasped loudly. "Killing one with a face so radiant? Mamma mia! I would never."

Lack Toes shot him a puzzled look. "But Chad, you were just saying how you wanted to rip Abby to pieces and drink her blood."

Chad waved him away. "Fuhgeddaboutit, fuhgeddaboutit."

Abby didn't register what he said. He looked like a Norse God. Or the human equivalent of the Sistine Chapel ceiling painting. 

"Anyways," Mikhail continued. "I think she might've left town. Hitched a ride somewhere."

"Well, that's inconvenient," Lack Toes muttered. He winced as he walked, sitting down on the couch beside the still passed out Jan. "Darn crocs. They're new," he said to Abby, as a way of an explanation.

"Why do you wear crocs, anyways?" Abby asked.

"They help with my balance. And they allow oxygen circulation through my remaining toes."

"The KGB originally didn't want to approve his choice of footwear, but I," Chad winked, his orbs sparkling in the sunlight. "Manage to convince the receptionist to have a word with the higher-ups."

Mikhail immediately cut in, trying to steer the conversation away. "Let's go," he said stiffly, standing up. "Before the girl awakes. We should find Abby as soon as possible. I propose that Chad and Lack Toes head towards West Virginia."  


"Why?" Asked Lack Toes, standing up again. His crocs went _squeak squeak squeak_ as he hobbled towards the door. 

"It was her favourite state." Mikhail answered, opening the door for the two men. "After you, comrades."

"Grazie!" Chad replied, blowing a kiss at Mikhail, but then promptly bumping into Lack Toes who was also trying to get through the door at the same time. "A y im walkin 'ere!" He cried indignantly, as the smaller, two-toed man toppled to the floor. 

"Sorry," Lack Toes muttered, dusting himself off and following his comrade.  Abby stepped out onto the sidewalk and Mikhail closed the door behind her. Despite the commotion, no one seemed to have noticed anything amiss. The neighborhood was quiet and peaceful.

"So, I was thinking of taking...Tuxedo Mask -- codename, by the way, because she loves Tuxedos -- here to head towards California. Y'know, the west way. Far away. Just to check, y'know?"

"Ay, c'mon!" Chad ruffled Mikhail's hair. "Come with us, amico! We'll head to West Virginia together. As the saying goes, four KGB agents are better than one."  


Mikhail and Abby looked at one another. If they said no, it would be too suspicious. And Chad might just end up tagging along with them to California. Abby knew that saying yes would put her life in danger, but one look at Chad, and all her worries melted away. How hard was it to lie and stay alive, really? 

"Sure," she said, smiling. "I love West Virginia."


	9. Country Roads, Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby, Mikhail, Chad and Lack Toes go on a road trip to West Virginia, but for KGB agents, fun times don't last...

**Chapter 9: Country Roads, Take Me Home**

The sun was shining bright in the sky, radiant beams piercing through the marshmallow clouds. Abby sat shotgun in a bright red Jeep, the glorious Chad driving beside her, with Lack Toes and Mikhail sitting in the back. John Denver’s heavenly vocals blended in with the faint hum of the engine as they clapped, singing along. 

_“Country roads, take me home! To the plaaaaaaaaace, I belong! West Virginia, Mountain Mama, take me home, country roads!”_

Considering that the previous week had been full of deaths, betrayals, grief, and plot twists, Abby was enjoying this. Just four lads, thirty-seven toes between them, chilling in a red Jeep, listening to John Denver. It was glorious. 

"If there was heaven on earth, this would be it," Abby mused as the song faded. "It doesn't even matter that you guys were sent to kill me. You're just..." she sighed, leaning against Chad's muscled biceps. "Amazing."

Lack Toes leaned forward. "What was that about killing you?"

"She means," Mikhail grabbed the collar of Lack Toes' shirt and pulled him back to his seat. "That this past week has been killing her. The stress of the first assignment. Isn't that right, Tuxedo?"

Oh, right. She'd forgotten for a second that she was Tuxedo Mask now, not Abby Price. Thankfully, Chad had been too busy admiring his own reflection in the rear-view mirror to truly notice what she said, and Mikhail had seemingly quelled Lack Toes' suspicion. She felt like she was drunk. Or high. Or both. 

But still, the feeling was exhilarating. It was the breeze on her face. The sight of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance. The gentle flow of the Shenandoah River. 

Chad's smile.

"That's right," she replied softly, feeling as though she was flying.

"Ay, Tux, sweetheart," Chad turned towards her, beaming. "Why'd they call you Tux, anyways?" 

"Because I like Tuxedos," despite feeling as though she'd downed a whole bottle of Absolut Vodka, she still remembered the cover story Mikhail gave her. "Also, it sounds kinda cool."

"It's sounds absolutely cool! A cool code name for a cool lady." Chad winked. Abby felt like swooning. Was this what the contestants on Love Island felt? She had never been the one for reality TV shows, but now she understood why the girls on the Bachelor were so furiously competitive for the love of their life. 

"Thank you," she clasped her hands together and blinked rapidly, like an anime girl, doing her best to look cute. 

"Listen, what are you going to do in West Virginia? How do we know where she went? We don't even know what she looks like!"

"Yeah, about that," Mikhail straightened his ushanka. "How come you don't know what she looks like?" 

"Listen, listen," Chad let go of the steering wheel and turned around to face the two men in the back. Abby ignored his reckless driving, instead focusing on his toned back and arms bulging from his white T-shirt. "Wasn't my fault, okay?! They sent the file on our phones but I accidentally crushed it with my bare hands when doing exercises."

Lack Toes rolled his eyes. "He wanted to see if he could crush our phones to a pulp. I didn't think he wouldn't actually do it, but he did. The guy is made of steel." 

"Amazing," Abby murmured, entranced.

"Okay," Mikhail put his head in his hands. "So you don't know what she looks like, and I gather you don't have your phones." 

"Yep," Chad flexed. "By the time I was done with them, those babies were the size of a dung beetle. Aluminium and lithium have nothing on me!"

Abby felt like she might collapse. He truly was the best thing since sliced bread.

"Okay, whatever. Can you focus on driving, please?" Mikhail begged, being the only responsible one in the car. "How we haven't crashed yet, I'd never know."

As soon as the words left Mikhail's lips, the red Jeep smashed into another car.

The airbag exploded in Abby's face, thrusting her backwards into the seat. She shrieked as the car spun around uncontrollably in circles, as Chad cursed and wrestled with the steering wheel, trying to get the vehicle under control. For a while, it seemed like it would never end.

When the car finally stopped spinning, a collective silence fell over the four of them, until Lack Toes cried out: "My toes! My toes! You broke my toes!"

Mikhail readjusted his ushanka hat, which had miraculously stayed on his head despite the car becoming the equivalent of the Spinning Teacup ride in Disneyland. "Что за черт, Chad?!"

"Sorry, what was that? I only speak English, Italian and Womanizing Charm." Chad turned to Abby and winked, and she felt her heart flutter. Suddenly, everything was alright again. 

"I said -- what the hell? Now what are we going to do?" Mikhail unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car, stumbling onto the road. Before Abby could do the same, however, there was a knock on the window.

"Y'all better roll down your damn windows, or else I'm going to break it, I swear to Lord Jesus, I will, yessir." 

Outside the wreckage of their red Jeep stood a woman. She wore a red plaid shirt and long, slim-fitting jeans. Her brown hair was braided with red ribbons, and she wore a white Stetson while puffing on a Marlboro Gold. A damaged blue pickup truck sat dejectedly on the side of the road, and Abby immediately knew that this woman was the person that they hit.

"Don't worry," Chad winked at Abby, seeing the worry on her face. "Time to turn on the ol' Italiano charm, and this will all go away." He took off his shirt, exposing his ripped chest, and exited the car. 

Chad sauntered up to the lady as Abby watched from inside, enthralled. "How you doing, baby?" He bowed dramatically and took the woman's hands in his, bending down to kiss it. "So sorry for the trouble, but you do understand, of course."

"Touch me again, I swear to the Lord above, I'll shoot you right between your beady lil' eyes, yessir, I will." 

"Oh, feisty," Chad said, undeterred. "I like my ladies hot and bothered."

The woman stared at him. "You're lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut."

Chad winked. "Say that again. Now, how about I kiss your worries away, huh, baby?"

"You kiss me," the woman warned. "And you'll regret it."

Chad rolled his eyes. "That's what they all say." He leaned in and tried to kiss Without a word, the woman pulled a revolver from her purse, and shot Chad George Foreman Grill right between the eyes.

Abby screamed as Chad toppled to the ground. _No, no, no. This can't be happening!_ Her Chad, her beautiful Chad - dead, right before her eyes. Behind her, she saw Lack Toes gasp at the death of his comrade, and Mikhail rushed towards the woman, tackling her to the ground. Abby opened the door and rushed to Chad's side, tears leaking from her eyes like water from a faulty tap, holding him in her short, stubby arms. 

"Chad," she wailed. "Don't leave me!"

"Oh, I won't, baby," Chad replied.

Abby yelped, and threw Chad away from her arms, as if he was a parasite. "You're alive!"

"Oh yeah, that was a rubber bullet, I'm alive and well!" Chad winked, then stepped back, and immediately got run over by a truck.

Abby screamed again. Unfortunately, this time, she could not run over to Chad's body and scoop him in his arms like a scene from an Academy Winning film, because Chad's body was now nothing more than a smear of blood and guts, looking like spilled tomato sauce on the highway. 

Mikhail and the woman glanced at the scene before them. "Well, that's unfortunate," the woman said, standing up. 

"You wanton mistress of the darkest night!" Abby screamed. "You killed my man!"

"He tried to assault me," said the woman, matter of factly. "If you're attracted to a man like him, I would seriously reevaluate your life choices."

Abby paused. What she said made sense. Did she really want to be in love with a playboy womanizer without any sense of boundaries? 

Abby stood and shook hands with the lady. "I'm Abby," she introduced.

The woman grinned. "I'm Becca."


	10. Chickens and Frappucino's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby, Mikhail, and Lack Toes evade the police after the events of the last chapter, with Becca tagging along.

**Chapter 10: Chickens and Frappucino's **

"So...this is fun," Becca said hesitantly. 

After Chad's untimely death, Abby, Mikhail, Becca and Lack Toes decided that it wouldn't be wise to stick around for the police to arrive, since Becca was now indirectly responsible for Chad's passing and the other three were KGB agents. The last thing they needed was the American police involved, even if they were incompetent, as Mikhail had declared. Lack Toes had been vehemently against Becca tagging along, considering that she did kill his partner, but Abby had grown to love the gun-swinging, cowboy-boot-wearing Southern lady. P

"If by 'this is fun' you mean trekking through the woods in blaring hot weather with mosquitos and bugs around us after the timely death of our beloved comrade, then yes, this is fun," Lack Toes huffed indignantly, waddling around with his crocs like a toddler who took a dump in his diaper. "I'm also pretty sure my toes are broken."

"No one cares, Lack Toes," Mikhail sighed. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. "I'm so hot."

"No, you're about average," Abby remarked, shrugging. As Lack Toes and Becca walked ahead, she walked closer to Mikhail. 

Mikhail looked offended. "No one asked you. Also, I was referring to the heat, not my outer appearance."

"Then take off your fur hat thing."

"I can't," Mikhail said dejectedly. "How else would I embrace my Russian culture and honor my Russian identity?"

Abby shrugged. "I don't know. What I do know is that if you continue wearing the ushanka, you're going to get heat stroke."

"So be it," said Mikhail, readjusting his hat. "I will never betray my country!"

Abby narrowed his eyes at him. "Didn't you already betray your country by not killing me and lying to Chad and Lack Toes?"

"Hey, don't make me regret that choice, Elizaveta," Mikhail warned under his breath. "You're alive because of me, remember?"

"Sure, sure," Abby said, not really listening. She knew that Mikhail would never kill her. They were too close, too bonded -- they were like Hopper and Eleven from Stranger Things, just significantly more Russian. 

"What's this about being loyal to your country?" Becca asked, suddenly appearing beside the two. 

Abby looked and Mikhail. "мы должны сказать ей (should we tell her)?" She asked.

Mikhail pursed his lips, then nodded. "у нас есть грязь на ней. если она скажет, мы расскажем полиции о том, как она убийца (We have dirt on her. If she tells, we'll tell the police about how she's a murderer)."

Abby looked at Becca. "We're actually Russian secret agents." She said.

Becca gasped and put her hand to her heart dramatically. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Commies in the heart of this grand country? I can't believe it!"

"Wait," Lack Toes said, confused. "I thought you already knew we were Russian."

"No! Lord, no! Why would I know that?"

"Maybe because Mikhail's name is Mikhail, he's wearing a ushanka, and he just spoke in Russian?" Lack Toes countered.

Becca shrugged. "I thought he just had a speech impediment and a unique sense of style."

Lack Toes just sighed and continued hobbling along, wincing in pain as he went. 

"Well, now that the cat's out of the bag," Becca said, as the quartet continued hiking through the bush. "What are a bunch of Russian commie spies doing in my great country?"

"We're looking for a particular agent of ours. Her name's Abby Price." Mikhail explained, as he walked straight into a low-hanging branch. "We have a feeling she's in West Virginia."

"Ah," said Becca. "Can't help you there, friend. Haven't been to West Virginia in a coon's age."

"Where are you originally from?" Abby asked. 

"Alabama."

"I love that state!" Abby said excitedly. "It's so unique and beautiful, although I don't agree with the outdated cousin-marriage laws," she said as a bit of an afterthought.

"Hey, guys!" Lack Toes called from in front of them. "I found something!" 

They all rushed up towards him, stopping at the top of a hill and seeing what Lack Toes was pointing at. A Starbucks! Abby felt like fainting. She didn't even stop to question why there was a Starbucks in an abandoned West Virginian forest, all she could think about was her beautiful pumpkin spice lattes. She was truly the epitome of a basic white girl, but she didn't care.

"Maybe they have a phone and we can call for help," said Lack Toes, wincing. "My toes are in pain."

"Shut up, Lack Toes!" Abby snapped, running towards the glorious green and white building with renewed energy. "We're here for the lattes, not your medical emergency!"

She reached the front door and pushed it open with ease. The bell twinkled merrily as she walked in. 

"Greetings!" Called a voice from the counter. "I'll be out in a jiff!" 

"Okay!" Abby called back. As she waited by the counter, she started to realize that this Starbucks was unlike any other one she had ever set foot in. Movie and video game posters lined the walls, with cut-out magazine pages pasted haphazardly everywhere. The walls were originally painted white, but the neon LED lights lining the ceilings and wall made the whole place look purple. A lizard was munching a leaf on the counter, where pots of tomatoes, bell peppers, and strawberries grew. 

_Well,_ thought Abby. _They're really changed their whole aesthetic._

"I'm coming, I'm coming, uwu!" said a strangely familiar voice from the back room. As the figure emerged from the shadows to the counter, Abby gasped.

Because standing right in front of her, was Langham Beyersdorf.

"Langham!" She cried, as Langham yelled, "Abby!"

"What are you doing here?" Abby asked, her mind whirling. "Why do you operate a Starbucks?"

"Oh, it's not a Starbucks, just a rip-off version, because I really like stealing from major corporations." Langham replied. He seemed much more at ease here, in the middle of nowhere. He no longer sprouted a Rolex watch, but instead a live rooster on his shoulder. He also spoke normally now, much to Abby's relief. "I really wanted to run away and live in the woods, so that's what this is. It's still in the works, of course."

"Oh, wow," Abby looked around. Langham had really down a number on the place. "Do you serve coffee?"

"Only frappucinos, all other types of coffee are inferior."

"Do you have muffins? I don't really drink coffees." Jan's terrible Arabian coffee still stained her tastebuds.

"Sure, sure." Langham gave the rooster to Abby. "Hold Clyde for me."

Abby grabbed the chicken uncertainly, praying that it wouldn't claw her face off. It didn't, but it did defecate on her arm. She made a face, but she's had worse experiences with animals. Once, Raisa and Antonin's dog puked in her shoe.

The bell twinkled once more as Langham disappeared into the kitchen. It was Lack Toes, face contracted with pain. "Please," he begged, tears falling from his face. "I need an ambulance. My toes..."

"Lack Toes, would you hush? I'm trying to get a muffin." Abby rolled her eyes. 

"But my toes!"

"Who cares if you lose a few more?" Mikhail muttered as he and Becca entered the not-Starbucks, then raised his eyebrows at the decor. "Wow, they've really redecorated."

Lack Toes collapsed to the door, holding his foot and wailing. Everyone ignored him. 

"Who's this?" Said Langham, as he returned with a blueberry muffin in hand.

"Oh, this is my good friend Mikhail, and our new friend Becca," Abby introduced, as Mikhail and Becca both politely nodded and waved. "And that snivelling mess over there is Lack Toes."

"Please get me a phone," Lack Toes pleaded. "I need a hospital."

"Sorry, reception's crap out here," said Langham nonchalantly. "Anyways," he turned to Abby. "What's my schoolmate, Abby Price, doing in West Virginia?"

"Wait," all of a sudden, Lack Toes stopped crying. "Abby Price?"

"Yeah," Langham gestured vaguely towards Abby. "Abby Price. The one holding the chicken. We go to school together."

"Isn't Abby the one y'all are looking for?" Becca looked around, confused. 

Suddenly, everyone seemed to realize the same thing at the same time. As realization dawned on Lack Toes' face, he drew his gun and aimed it at Abby, who, not thinking, immediately threw Clyde the Rooster at the two-toed man's faces. Clyde squawked at being suddenly launched into the air like a cannonball, and immediately began clawing Lack Toes' face to shreds. Screams filled the small not-coffeehouse, as Lack Toes began firing indiscriminately, bullets flying everywhere. Abby hit the ground like John Lennon did after being shot on December 8th 1980, as Mikhail pulled Becca behind a pole, until suddenly, silence engulfed the room.

As the dust settled, Abby cracked open an eye. Blood stained the ground. Lack Toes toes were not not the only body part lacking -- his eyeballs lay on the ground, spinning around -- and Clyde's claws were embedded deep within his skull. The death of the small, two-toed man as well as the chicken saddened her somewhat, but she knew that if she didn't throw a chicken at him, she would be the one dead. So she just took a bite of her blueberry muffin and stood.

Langham stared at the carnage before him with wide eyes. "Clyde!" he wailed.

"I'm sorry," said Abby, patting his shoulder. "I didn't mean to do that. It sort of happened."

"Can someone tell me what in the heavens is going on?!" Becca yelled, emerging from behind the pillar.

Mikhail bit his bottom lip. "Long story." He looked at Abby. "Now what? They're going to find out about Chad and Lack Toes' death sooner or later."

Abby let out a breath. "Not sure. But since we're tired and hungry and safe for now," she turned to Langham, still staring at all of them with wide eyes. "How about some frappucinos?"


	11. Come and Keep Your Comrade Warm

**Chapter 11: Come and Keep Your Comrade Warm**

Langham sobbed when they burned Clyde. One might believe that the gang were burning the chicken to eat it, but unfortunately, Abby was vehemently against the idea of eating a chicken riddled with bullet holes, much to the disappointment of Mikhail. Thus, they gave the chicken a true martyr's funeral, complete with a large, towering pyre. 

Of course, Lack Toes was just dumped into a pile of leaves, left to rot and decompose as he pleased. Abby had thought that it would've been the decent thing to give him a proper burial, but Mikhail had shut down that idea, saying that he was a traitor and was only "97% a man" because of his lack of toes, and thus didn't deserve a funeral. 

"Isn't this kinda of overkill?" Becca asked, arms crossed.

"Yes," Abby admitted. "But that chicken sacrificed himself for us, to save us from..." she couldn't even say his name. "That traitor."

"I'm sorry," Becca gave her a pat on the back. "I know how much you loved him."

"Wait - what?!" Abby twirled around, trying to come off as angry, but instead coming off more cutesy, like Paul McCartney in the live performance of 'Ticket to Ride'. The fact she stood a whole head shorter than Becca didn't contribute to her attempts to come off as threatening. She looked like a chihuahua, short, snappy, and slightly annoyed. "I'm not in love with him!" 

"Really?" Becca seemed surprised. "I thought you guys would be perfect for each other. Considering you're both so short."

Abby spasmed indignantly. Seeing Becca raise an eyebrow incredulously, Abby stalked over to where Lack Toes' body lay in a pile of leaves, before giving the short deceased man a firm kick in the ribs. Mikhail ooh'ed and ahh'ed as Abby came stomping back, hands on her hips, truly looking like a sixth grader whose teacher accidentally gave her a 98% instead of a 99% on a math exam. "Satisfied, now?"

Becca shrugged, "Sure. Want a coffee?" 

The gang headed back inside Langham's not-Starbucks, before taking seat in one of the many wooden chairs. As Abby morosely sipped her sugary frappucino, she wondered how she got to this point. Just a week ago, she was an ordinary student (ignoring the whole Russian spy thing, of course), and now here she was, in the middle of a West Virginian forest, drinking watery coffee with a Russian general, a gun-shooting Alabamian, and a green-and-purple haired punk. 

_I don't even like coffee._

She spat it out onto the table. Mikhail shot her a disgusted glance, "You're a swine."

Abby shrugged. "Oink oink," she said, un-energetically.

"So..." said Becca, nursing her untouched frappucino in her hand, because apparently that was all Langham drank. "What now? We're being chased by the American police, the Russian KGB, and we're stuck...where again?" She asked Langham.

Langham was still weeping over the death of his beloved chicken. "Somewhere in a West Virginian forest," he managed to stammer through his tears.

Becca rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we know that. Coordinates, son?"

Langham shook his head. "I don't know. I'm a fool."

"Mood," said Abby. 

They sat together in sullen silence for a few more minutes, until suddenly, Mikhail placed his empty coffee cup on the table with a vengeance. "Enough of this!" He roared. "We're agents of the USSR, we don't just sit around and drink disgusting American coffee!"

Abby furrowed her brow. "You finished yours, though."

"Shut up!" Mikhail was turning a redder shade of red. 

"I'm also not from the USSR," quipped Becca.

"Neither am I," said Langham, through his sobs. 

Mikhail rolled his eyes. "Oh, heaven's sake -- listen, all of you. Clap once if you're listening."

Becca smirked and clapped twice, then grabbed Mikhail's empty coffee cup and began singing the Cup song from Pitch Perfect. Langham joined in, through his sobs.

Abby was tempted to do so as well -- Anna Kendrick was indeed her idol -- but seeing a small tear leak from warm, dark irises of Mikhail...well, she couldn't betray him like that, could she? While Becca and Langham continued singing, she patted Mikhail on the back, before leaning against his shoulder. Well, she leaned against his forearm, more specifically. She was too short to reach his shoulders. But the effect was the same. "You okay?" She whispered.

Mikhail buried his head in his hands. "No."

"Aww," she patted his back. "Bb."

"Thanks," he sneezed on the top of her head. She didn't mind. Bodily fluids did bring people together closer, after all, for example kisses, and well...other things. "I'm just worried," Mikhail said, amidst Becca and Langham's voices. "About what's going to happen to you. About what's going to happen to me."

"What do you mean?"

"When you nod your head yes, but you wanna say no."

"No, no, not the song, I mean, please clarify."

"Oh," Mikhail sniffed. "It's just that, back in the USSR..."

"You don't know how lucky you are, boy."

"What?" Mikhail furrowed his brow. "No, no, not the song. I'm talking about our motherland."

"Oh, right." Abby blushed. She was all hot and bothered all of a sudden.

"Anyways, back in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, there's going to be people who will find about about Chad and Lack Toes' death. And they'll send people after us. Both of us now, because they'll know of my betrayal." He seemed sadder, all of a sudden, looking like a wet dog, or more specifically, Ringo Starr. Abby didn't know why she suddenly felt so attracted to him. His nose wasn't big or anything, just normal. Her reactions puzzled her. "And...y'know, I don't know how much longer we can last on the run. Especially with them."

He gestured towards Becca and Langham, who had now finished singing the Cup song and were now engaged in a deep philosophical discussion about how if people came out of the shower clean, towels can still get dirty.

"It's okay," she took his hand in his. "We'll figure something out."

Mikhail looked down at her, eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, Abby. Everything is just...so cold, so cold and desolate."

"Yeah," she felt her heart break at the sight of his tears. Mikhail had never been this raw, this vulnerable with her before. He had always been the picture of solemness, always logical, always professional in their meetings. Even though he had practically raised her, he had been more of a trainer than a father figure. And yet, this feeling of hers was...something else. Something strange. "I understand. Sometimes, things just seem empty. Your life seems meaningless. Especially after you lose someone important. But as Paul McCartney once said, 'And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me'."

"What?" Said Mikhail.

"And when the night is cloudy..."

"No, you idiot," Mikhail rolled his eyes. "Not everything is about the bloody Beatles. I was talking about the climate."

"Oh." She smiled still, undeterred. "Well, let it be."

Mikhail buried his hand in his head. "You're a lost cause."

Abby smiled. "And you're a swine."

They looked at each other, and laughed. 

"Hey guys," a thick Alabamian accent cut through their thoughts. "Did anyone order Uber Eats? 'Cause there's an Uber Eats car outside."

"What?" Abby asked, glancing outside the window. Indeed, there was a car outside Langham’s not-Starbucks, but it was plastered with stickers of the Soviet Union flag, and the license plate read: SUAG3NT

Langham stopped his wailing to ask incredulously, “Why type of Uber Eats cars have you seen?”

Becca shrugged, and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could there was a knock on the door.

"Hello, Mikhail," came a sultry voice from outside the front door. "Why are you hiding? Come back. Come back to me. _Come and keep your comrade warm."_

Before anyone could move, the door burst open. 


	12. He's Back, Baby

**Chapter 12: He's Back, Baby**

_"Hello, Mikhail," came a sultry voice from outside the front door. "Why are you hiding? Come back. Come back to me. Come and keep your comrade warm."_

_Before anyone could move, the door burst open. _

_-_

Elizaveta Avigeya Paramonova had experienced many surprises in her short, sixteen years of life. She'd experienced her fair share of shocking events, both happy and sad, but nothing, _nothing_, could've prepared her for what walked through that door.

Draped in a black bear fur coat, sporting stylish combat boots, and wearing an identical ushanka to Mikhail, Sergei Ignatkovich had never looked this put-together. Usually, he would be found lying on the library floor, a piece of chalk in his mouth. This time, however, instead of chalk, a Belomorkanal cigarette dangled from his lips. He pushed down his dark-rimmed sunglasses, smiling. "Hello, Abby."

Usually, if your friend magically arose from the dead, the expected reaction would be to scream, to cry, to faint, to grab some holy water. This time, however, all Abby could do was look at the boy and say, "Hello."

Mikhail wiped away the last few droplets of tears clinging onto his McCartney-esque eyelashes. "Sergei, comrade," he muttered. "What are you doing here?"

Becca held up her hand. "Wait, what? Who is this? What's going on?"

"Ah, I see you've picked up a redneck." Sergei's voice was deep and authoritative, nothing like the high-pitched, squeaky boy that Abby was so used to. _What is going on?!_ "Howdy do', madam, as they say in Louisiana."

"I'm from Alabama."

Sergei waved his hand dismissively. "Aren't they all the same around here, anyways? It's like Ukraine. Different name, same place."

Langham had stopped sobbing over his chicken's death was now staring up at Sergei, wide-eyed. "Sergei? Is that you?"

Sergei looked at Langham as if he had just seen a wet rat in a supermarket -- disgusted, but also mildly intrigued. "Langham. Punk boy. Didn't expect to see you here." He looked around at the four of them in disdain. "To be honest, I hadn't expected any of this."

"Wait --" After what felt like forever, Abby finally regained her voice. "Sergei, aren't you dead?"

"Do I look dead to you, Elizaveta?"

"Well, no," Abby admitted, but that didn't answer her questions. "Also, how did you know my name? My real name?"

Sergei look off his sunglasses with an overdramatic sigh, leaning against the doorframe like a Bond supervillian. "Oh, Elizaveta. Your poor, sweet, innocent soul."

"She's not that innocent," Langham quipped, with a wink.

Abby whirled around to look at him. "What on earth does that mean?"

"I mean, I've seen the Insta posts you've liked, Abby," Langham winked again. "Wink wonk."

Abby shook her head, deciding not to pursue the conversation any further. Instead, she looked back at Sergei, still leaning against the doorframe, ankles crossed. It couldn't be comfortable for him, but Abby wasn't the type to judge. "Wait, someone really needs to explain what's going on to me. Sergei's not dead, somehow?"

"Nope," Sergei said, popping the 'p'. "I'm very much alive, comrade."

"Comrade?" Abby furrowed her brow. Nothing in her life was making sense anymore. It was as if she was a character in a trashy novel written by an author high on cocaine.

"Yes," Sergei nodded solemnly. "Comrade. Well, ex-comrade, technically. I'm sent here to kill you."

"Oh. Wait, what?"

Sergei rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't play coy with me, Elizaveta. We all know your secrets. And yours too, Mikhail." He said pointedly, looking at the older Russian. 

Mikhail's expression suddenly morphed into one of panic. "Hey now, we had a deal about the anime thing -"

Sergei held up a hand, effectively silencing the man. "I'm in charge here," he growled, which reminded Abby of Bad Boy™ Hardin in the amazing After movie. "Not you, Mikhail. Not after your failures. Speaking of which," he dropped the domineering tone immediately, suddenly chill and relaxed. "The Kremlin wants a word with you."

"Me?" Mikhail chuckled nervously. "What does the big man want to do with me?"

Sergei narrowed his eyes. "What do you think? Lack Toes? Chad?"

"Oh, right," Mikhail grinned, but his smile wavered. "Ah, they're on vacation right now."

"Vacation?" Langham asked questioningly. "Wait, didn't we just kill Lack Toes with a chicken?"

A heavy silence enveloped the five of them inside Langham's not-Starbucks, before the mohawk-sporting man suddenly realized, "Oh, right, wasn't supposed to say that." He grimaced. "Sorry, uwu."

Sergei looked pointedly at Mikhail. "I think I made my point. Also," he looked back at Abby. "Enough of the small talk. It's time for your execution."

"Wait!" As Sergei pulled out a gun, Abby held up her hands, desperately wracking her brain for an excuse to live just five more minutes. "Before I die, can you tell me why you're not dead, and why you're here to kill me?"

Sergei shrugged. "I guess. You're dying soon, anyways." He sat down next to Mikhail and took a sip of Langham's frappucino. "You think you're the only secret agent sent to Cade Valley to track Nathan Giles, Abby?"

"Wait, what does this have to do with Nathan?" Langham asked. 

"Not important," Sergei waved him away. "He's dead, anyways."

"What?!" Langham and Abby cried in unison. 

"Oh yeah, once we learned that both you and Mikhail failed to do the one thing you were supposed to do, they sent me in to finish the job," Sergei said casually, drinking more of the sugary coffee drink. "This is good."

"You killed him?" Langham's lips were quivering. "You killed my love!" He shrieked, before grabbing the first thing that was next to him to throw at the black-clad Russian, which turned out to be Becca's arm. As the Alabamian went flying into Sergei's lap, Langham stood up with a roar and went for Sergei's neck. Sergei made a squeaking noise that closely resembled that of a rubber duck, before pushing Becca's limp body off of his lap and shooting Langham in the face just before he managed to get to Sergei. 

Abby screamed as Langham fell, crashing onto the floor of the room. Mikhail jumped, while Becca laid motionless on the ground, seemingly knocked out by Sergei's shove.

"Anyways," Sergei readjusted his cloak, leaning back into the chair and taking a long, slow drag of his cigarette. "So, I killed him, and then set off to find you two with orders to take Mikhail in and kill Abby, which has failed every single time someone's tried. But I bet you had a fun time, frolicking around in the West Virginian woods." He winked.

"Wha -" Abby spasmed indignantly. "Why does everyone keep winking at me?!"

Sergei winked in response, then drew his gun. "Hopefully that answered your question."

"Wait, wait, no," Abby had to keep delaying things. Maybe if she kept talking, all her problems would go away. "Explain to me one last thing."

Sergei rolled his eyes. "Oh my f- okay, okay, what is it?"

Abby inhaled deeply, trying to keep her mind calm and not focused on her possible imminent death. "Why does everyone want me dead? I've followed orders. I've done everything they wanted me to do."

"Oh, honey," Sergei looked at her with pity, as if she was a victim of another one of Kettle's relentless insults. "It's Lyudmila."

"What about her?" Her breathing quickened at the sound of Lyudmila's name. 

Sergei smiled. "She just had a child. Took her long enough though, didn't it? And of course, why would she want Alina's daughter in the way?"

Abby's blood went cold. Lyudmila. Lyudmila had done this. She knew, somewhere deep inside her, that one day, this day would come. That was why she was whisked away by Mikhail. Raised and trained to be a spy. So she wouldn't interfere with...Lyudmila.

"Anyways," Sergei cocked his gun. "Any last words?"

"I -" Abby struggled to find something worthwhile to say. She was sorry? That she would haunt him from the grave? That he would regret it?

Before she could do make up her mind, however, Sergei shrugged. "Whoops, too late."

He pulled the trigger, firing right at Abby's face.


	13. Chapter 13: A Lot of Things Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah get ready for more crackheadery friends

**Chapter 13: A Lot of Things Happen**

_Before she could do make up her mind, however, Sergei shrugged. "Whoops, too late."_

_He pulled the trigger, firing right at Abby's face._

-

For the second time that week, Abby closed her eyes and waited for death.

She was almost disappointed when several seconds passed and she didn't feel the biting pain of bullets, nor the warm rush of blood. Not that she was really surprised. Russian secret agents had a bad track record of trying to kill her. Cautiously, she cracked open an eye, only to see Sergei standing uncomfortably close to her face, grinning maniacally. 

He cackled at her confusion. "I got you, didn't I? Huh? Huh?" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. "Haha! You really fell for that, didn't you?"

"So..." she pushed him away, stepping back. "You're...not actually going to kill me?"

"Nah," Sergei twirled his gun around, which Abby thought was quite irresponsible to do considering that the safety was off and he could accidentally shoot himself at any second. "I was just messing with you. Your daddy wants you back. Alive."

Even Mikhail seemed surprised at that. "Wait, what?"

"Yep," Sergei nodded, still twirling his gun like a washed-out actor from a B-grade cowboy Western. He sat back down on his chair, trying to slip his gun back into his holster as he did so, but missing.

What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion.

Somehow, Sergei's lanky Russian fingers slipped, sending the weapon clattered to the ground and straight into the hands of Becca, who cocked the gun. 

"Hands up, ya discostang, beady-eyed Stalinist," the Alabamian snarled, pointing the gun directly at Sergei's head. "You're not getting away with this." She turned to Abby. "Call the police."

Mikhail cleared his throat. "That's all very _'oh say can you see by the dawn's early light'_ of you, but did you forget that we're all KGB spies and that you sort of shot Chad?"

"She did what?!" Sergei shrieked, prompting Becca to brutally pistol-whip him across the face, sending the Russian toppling to the floor.

Abby let out a yelp of surprise, while Becca got to her feet. "Stand up, Communist scum," she spat in distain. "They're right. I shot your friend, and I won't hesitate to shoot you too."

"Damn," Abby raised an eyebrow. "Hardcore."

Becca smirked. "That's how they do it in the South, honeypie. Now," she turned to glance over at Mikhail. "What do you say we do with this worthless piece of Russian crap?"

"Y'know, I'd appreciate it if you didn't keep using our nationality as an insult," Mikhail complained. "Abby and I are Russian too, even if we don't show it."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Mikhail, what type of heroin are you smoking? Your name is _literally_ Mikhail." 

"Yes," Sergei quipped from the ground. "And you're wearing an ushanka hat, comrade."

Mikhail threw his hands up in exasperation. "Just because I wear a ushanka hat and my name's Mikhail doesn't mean I'm Russian. Can't Americans be named Mikhail too? Haven't you ever met a Ohioan lad wearing an ushanka hat? It's fashion, my dear!" He slammed his hands back on the coffee table for emphasis. "_Fashion!"_

Becca raised an eyebrow. "So are you trying to argue that you are Russian and I shouldn't use your nationality as an insult, or that you're not Russian and thus I can keep using Russians as an insult?"

"I-" Abby could almost see Mikhail's three braincells scrambling to keep up. He eventually let out an exasperated sigh and slumped back into his seat. "Whatever, I'm too sober for this."

Abby patted his back reassuringly. 

"Anyways, where were we?" Becca turned back to Sergei, who had curled up into a ball, his black fur coat pulled over his head and thus covering every inch of his skin. Abby noted that he would've made a nice fur rug. "Ah, yes, what to do with you..."

"Just shoot me," Sergei said bitterly. "I've left down the Motherland, my fellow comrades, my brave and fearless leader." He choked back a sob. "I've been bested in battle -"

"Was hardly a battle, dude, you just dropped your gun-"

"-By an _American_!" Sergei spat out the word like it was poison. "An _American_! Some woman from a backwards hick town-"

Becca rolled her eyes. "Ironic that I can't insult your country but you can insult mine."

"-Where they think that plaid shirts and cowboy hats are the epitome of fashion-"

"At least I don't dress like a recently divorced wife looking for her alimony payment."

Sergei stopped his rant and stared up at Becca with hatred burning in his eyes. "Insult my fashion taste again, horse girl," he hissed, "and you'll regret it."

"Big words coming from a guy who lost a fight because he _dropped his gun_."

"As entertaining as this little back and forth is," Mikhail said, standing. "The plot must move along, as the authors say, no?" 

"Right," Becca kept her gun pointed at Sergei on the ground, but stepped closer to Abby and Mikhail. "So what do you suggest we do?"

Mikhail pursed his lips and dramatically adopted a thinking pose, suddenly morphing into The Thinker (1904) by Auguste Rodin. "Well," he said slowly. "Sergei's the...what? Third? Fourth? KGB agent sent to kill Abby. There's no reason to believe that if we kill Sergei, the Kremlin won't just keep sending agents to assassinate her."

"Wow, Mikhail, that's the most logical thing you've said like, since I met you," Abby quipped. 

"Shh," Mikhail momentarily broke his pose to shoot Abby a simmering glare. "My braincells need silence to function."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"Anyways," Mikhail once again adopted his thinking pose. "We could always shoot Sergei and keep moving deeper into the mountainside. Maybe change our identities. Grow a beard. Head to Utah. Join the Scientologists there."

"Hey wait!" Abby immediately objected. "Why are we going to Utah? Why are we becoming Scientologists? I do a lot of things for you, Mikhail, but joining a known cult is not one of them."

"Not even for Tom Cruise?" Sergei quipped from his place on the floor.

Abby made a face. "Especially not for Tom Cruise. If it was Bob Dylan...maybe. But Bob Dylan isn't a Scientologist, so, no."

"I suggested joining Scientology because I doubt even the KGB would find us there," Mikhail said, paying no mind to Abby's outburst. "We'll just become the next Shelley Miscavige's."

Abby furrowed her brow. "That's...not very comforting."

"Or, alternatively," Mikhail broke his pose and started pacing around the room, delicately stepping over Langham's unmoving body that still laid motionless on the floor. To be honest, Abby had forgotten about the boy amidst all of the drama. She felt a brief pang of sadness wash over her. _RIP, my dude._ "If you're objecting to the Scientology idea-"

"I am."

"-Then we could just, y'know, kill your father."

At Mikhail's words, the room plunged into sudden, tense silence. Abby stared. Becca stared. Sergei stared, and then promptly burst into a fit of laughter.

"You?!" He wheezed, clutching his ribs as he writhed around on the floor like a dehydrated snake. "You want to kill...Putin? I'm in tears, comrade, tears!" He wasn't lying. Tears squeezed themselves out of his eyes and slipped down his cheeks as he continued to laughter maniacally. His laughter, however, suddenly morphed into coughs, as he suddenly began to choke and wheeze.

Becca stepped back, alarmed. "What's happening to him?"

"It's an asthma attack!" Abby immediately shot out of her seat, dropping down to her knees by Sergei's side. She brushed aside the fact that Sergei had been trying to kill her -- and had killed Langham -- only minutes earlier. This was her friend! Her one connection to the Motherland at Cade Valley High. She had mourned him at his funeral, shed tears for him. That kind of thing bonded people together, even if one of them happened to be an undercover KGB agent sent to kill another undercover KGB agent. She couldn't just let him die! "I need an inhaler!"

Becca looked at her skeptically. "Dude, we're in the middle of a discount Starbucks run -- sorry, that _was_ run -- by a punk with a green and purple mohawk in the middle of the West Virginian forests. This is the least likely place on Earth to find an inhaler."

"Get me some water then!" Abby shrieked, growing more and more hysterical by the minute as she rolled Sergei onto his back, watching in horror as his face gradually turned blue. _He can't breathe!_ "Hurry up!" She yelled at Mikhail. "What's taking you so long?!"

"There's only frappuccinos here!" Mikhail yelled back, rummaging through Langham's stock of sugary coffee. "There's no water!"

"What was used to make the frappuccinos then? Apple juice?!" 

Sergei made a spluttering sound, and Abby whipped her head around. His movements were becoming weaker, his face turning bluer and bluer like Violet Beauregarde in _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. He reached out, and clutched Abby's tiny hand in a steel grip. His eyes bulged like goldfish.

"Long live..." his voice shook, and he choked as he gasped for breath. "...the Motherland."

And with that, Sergei's hand fell back to his side as the life went out of him the second, and possibly final, time.

"Hey!" Mikhail emerged from ransacking Langham's stock of coffee with a glass of apple juice in his hand. "You were right, that little punk did make his frappuccinos with apple juice! No wonder it tasted like crap. These Americans-" He stopped short as he stared at Sergei's lifeless body on the ground. "Ah, darn. Well, that's a shame, isn't it?" With that, he took a swig of the apple juice from the glass, and sat back down in his seat. "Anyways, as I was saying about the assassination..."

Abby whirled around. "Did you not see what just happened?!" She shrieked, voice higher pitched than usual.

Mikhail took another swig of his juice like it was vodka. "Yeah, Sergei died. And?"

"And? And? Sergei just died! That makes, what, four deaths at our hands now?" She felt like she was going to have a breakdown. "This can't just keep happening! People can't just keep dying! We need to put an end to this. Now."

"Riiiight," said Mikhail slowly, staring at the girl quizzically. "So like, as I was saying, we burst into the room and gun your dad down like Al Pacino in _Scarface_-"

Abby felt like she might start screaming. "Did you not hear anything I just said about not having more people die?! Killing my dad means more dying! I'm sick of it!"

"Geez, chill tf out. The guy's trying to kill you. This is self defense!" Mikhail stared at her like she had grown two heads. "Do you want to spend your whole life being hunted by your father?"

"No, but I don't want to kill him, either!" 

Becca shook her head and holstered Sergei's gun. "You two work out your moral crisis, I'm going out for a walk." And with that, she promptly walked out the door.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Mikhail whirled around to glare at Abby. "What's the matter with you? Since when did you care about who you killed? Did you forget that prior to all of this, you were on a mission to kill Nathan?" 

"Maybe I just don't want to live that kind of life anymore!" Abby yelled. "Maybe I'm just sick and tired of all my friends dying! I mean, look at Langham!" She gestured towards where Langham's body lay -- or more specifically, where Langham's body had been laying. Because right now, as Abby and Mikhail stared, the place where Langham had fallen was empty. 

Mikhail chewed his lower lip. "So, ah, am I tripping, or has your dead friend's body suddenly vanished?"

"No, you're not tripping." Abby glanced around the room, but the only two figures present were her and Mikhail. "Where on earth did he go?"

Mikhail opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, he was interrupted by a shrill and horrified shriek from outside the building. 

"Oh my god," Abby murmured, as the two of them immediately bolted to the door. "It's Becca."


End file.
